


It's still beautiful

by Nalyra



Series: Sparks of blackish red [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, ItsStillBeautiful, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is something that popped to my mind immediately after I read the tag.<br/>It's short and ... might conjure some painful memories from Mizumono... but it's one more step towards healing for them.</p><p>Set somewhere in between the setting of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7600897">'Wounds'</a>, but can be read as standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's still beautiful

„You still have it…“

There is no answer, just a heavy silence in which Will more senses than hears Hannibal put down his pencil on his sketchbook. The seconds stretch and Will keeps staring down onto the jacket he holds in his hands, found in the back of a still unpacked crate with … stuff that Chiyo sent to them. He swallows, his fingers kneading the fabric, the smile on his stomach a burning line, scorching on and in his skin. And here he had thought they had moved passed that.

Will forces himself to raise his head, his eyes locking onto Hannibal, seated at the little table on the veranda in the late afternoon sun, his sketchbook closed before him, profile sharp against the orange-red light. An eerie hue, mixing with the shadows of the distant mountains. Will clears his throat, his voice gravelly, yet tinged with sad amusement.

„I always thought some of the emergency helpers had taken it with them when they picked up Alana. After all, there was some money in here…“

This time, there is a deep sigh, followed by the light scratching sound as Hannibal stands up and comes over to Will slowly, standing in the veranda door leading to their home. Hannibal stops before him, eyes riveted to the old item of clothing, belonging to a time so long ago now. He raises a hand, softly tracing Wills fingers still gripping it.

„I told myself that I wanted to cover the blood stains on my shirt when I left, walking through the rain. However, I believe I rather indulged myself in regret instead.“

Hannibal pauses, sighing through his nose, raising his eyes to Wills. 

„I went to pickup the duffle bag in a garage and then to Bedelia to change. I left it there, after, for the… cleaners to pick everything up. Apparently, Chiyo checked the items I left there.“

Will turns away abruptly, a grimace crossing his face.

„Convenient.“

He tilts his head back towards Hannibal, tone flat.

„Did it feel good, scrubbing my blood off your fingers?“

Hannibal sighs again, frowning slightly, the movement visible from the corner of Wills eyes.

„I believed we had moved beyond this night, mylimasis.“

Will sighs deeply and then lets his head fall back, rolling it. He feels Hannibal come up to him, hands touching carefully, kneading the knots in his neck. Will allows himself to fall back more, head resting on Hannibals shoulder. Wills voice is quiet, considering.

„There are wounds that only ever scab over, as you very well know. Those that were inflicted both ways are the worst.“

Will licks his lips, eyes falling shut with some of the tension disappearing under Hannibals hands. He lifts the jacket up and folds it over his arm, frowning when he feels the hardness in it. He pulls himself up, stepping away and passed Hannibal, seating himself on one of the verandas chairs. He traces the lining, feeling the items within, knowing what he’ll find and dreading it. But needing it out as well. 

He slowly unfolds the jacket, feeling Hannibals gaze like a lead weight upon him. There is his old wallet in the inner pocket and Will unfolds it wistfully, his old driving licenses photo staring at him. He traces the photo, the eyes half hidden behind the frames of unneeded glasses, the gaze haunted, disheveled. Will smirks wryly. The wallet still contains his credit cards and a substantial amount of cash - the cash he put there when he still couldn’t find an absolute resolution even after studying his own reflection in the mirror in the little bathroom in Wolftrap for hours, his dogs looking on, whining. They knew something bad was about to happen. So did Will, if he is being honest. 

Hannibal steps up to him, his presence suffocating and buffeting in equal measure, so close Will can feel his heat through their clothes. Will forces his hand to stop shaking before he reaches into the outer right pocket, careful not to cut himself on the knife put there so long ago. He pulls it out, the blade glinting in the low light, viciously curved, still stained in deep red. He stares at it, numb almost, places it carefully onto the table. Hannibal clears his throat, the sound extremely loud in the sudden quiet, only insects swarming the air around them.

„Will…“

Hannibal breaks off, and Will is grateful for the uncharacteristic silence. He releases a breath, trying to quip, but not quite reaching the levity with his tone.

„Only your blood missing on that blade of our little murder family that was supposed to be.“

There is another pause and Will can sense Hannibal shift his weight, the only outward sign that he is uncomfortable. Still, it takes a few seconds until he answers, voice soft.

„Is this something you wish? My blood on this blade?“

Will closes his eyes against the sudden fury and sorrow that wants to raise its ugly head, forcing it down. If he so said it he knows Hannibal would use the knife on himself. It’s a burden in itself to know that Hannibal would do anything he asks of him, now, here, in the life they built. But. The past must not have a seat at this table. He shakes his head, throat working. 

„Not… really. I wish there was no blood on this blade at all. But. I’m very well aware that not even you managed to reverse time, so…“

He looks at the blade again, catching the light in an orange glow. He traces the edges, his fingers ghosting over Abigails blood, his own, along the sharp edges. He chuckles once, dark humor mixing with the awareness of what they are now. What his true self is now.

„It really is a beautiful knife. Especially now, imprinted with our history.“

Will puts the jacket and wallet onto the table next to the blade carefully, tilting his head up slowly. Hannibal regards him for a moment and then bows down, his breath caressing Wills lips for a moment before the first touch on them makes Will shudder. The light press is almost a benediction, inverted, making Will sigh softly. His hands come up slowly, fingers gliding into Hannibals silver hair, holding on gently. It’s a intimate glide, mouths fitting together in an age old dance, and Will groans, opening his mouth and then pushing his tongue against Hannibals lips, feeling the answering groan reverberate through them both. Hannibal tilts his head and opens his own mouth, the kiss turning deep and wet immediately, teeth and tongues battling for dominance, igniting other fires with every touch.

Hannibal pushes his hands down Wills upper torso, brushing passed his chest and over his nipples, Will arching into the feeling. Hannibal stops at the smile dissecting his stomach, fingers ghosting over it, hot and heavy on Wills clothes. Will moans into their kiss, breaking it, panting and licking his lips. Hannibal licks at the corner of his eyes, making them both sigh, his lips following to move to Wills temple. Will knows that this position can’t be overly comfortable for Hannibal but right now he couldn’t care less. He hums and then looks over across the paddock, where Emily dozes, Hannibals apology in form of a stray quite fond of their horses. Will releases Hannibal and stands up slowly, turning towards him, knowing how to mold this to their life now. 

Will reaches back and takes the knife, pulling it up to his own mouth slowly, Hannibals eyes following his movements, transfixed. Will sighs deeply through his nose and then puts the knife halfway into his mouth, the sharp coppery taste instant. He pulls it back out slowly, careful to tilt it so he cuts his own tongue -just- so. There is a drop of blood and a little fiery line along his tongue and he can tell by the flaring of Hannibals nostrils that he knows. Will pulls it out and licks his lips once more, knowing they’ll be stained red now.

He raises his hand, offering the knife to Hannibal, the wordless request met by an almost snarl, their horned beasts raging in triumph and hunger. Hannibal takes Wills hand and pulls it near, Will groaning when the knife disappears into Hannibals mouth. Hannibals hand stills and waits, and Will swallows, and then carefully tilts and pulls it out again, his heart beating loud in his ears, the smear of new bright red making Wills vision tunnel in. He looks at the knife, now stained with all their blood, a visual and metaphorical link between the past and their life now, here, from now on. Will swallows and puts it back onto the table, his hand shaking softly.

Hannibals eyes are fathomless black, the red almost completely eclipsed. Will steps close to him, taking his hands, his smirk still pained but honest, licking his lips again, a movement mimicked by Hannibal, his gaze hungry on Wills lips.

„I think we still need to christen the kitchen counter… wanna join me?“

He chose a flippant tone, but Hannibal doesn’t join in, his tone gravelly and utterly serious when he resists the tug Will uses on his hand.

„Do you wish for me to destroy the blade?“

Will turns and reaches back, traces the blade again, careful not to touch the new blood, already drying, a symbol for them and the life they chose if there ever was one. 

„No. After all - it’s still beautiful. Maybe even more so now.“

He tugs again and this time Hannibal allows himself to be lead back into their house. They don’t even make it to the kitchen counter though. But then, Will reflects wryly afterwards, who cares anyway.


End file.
